


Prickles and Vines

by pressedinthepages



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Jaskier is agressively patient, M/M, bless him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: My contribution to @thewitchersecretsanta :) This fic is for @morgondagar , I really hope that you enjoy!
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Prickles and Vines

These precious few moments, embraced in the afterglow of their pleasures, these are when Lambert is truly most vulnerable. His soul is open and raw, the bricks and mortar cast aside from where the walls once stood. Lambert’s chest heaves with every breath as his heart slows back to its typically lethargic pace. His nails scritch at the nape of his bedmate’s neck, and he revels in the way he hears Jaskier’s breath hitch high in his chest. 

They lie there, entangled with each other as the moon climbs well into the sky. Lambert has never really been one for ~snuggles~, but falling straight into Jaskier’s arms had felt like the most natural thing to do once they were both sated and sweaty. And even now, as Lambert can smell the cooling spend spattered over both of their chests and the content aroma of honeyed words and whispered praises from behind Jaskier’s ear, he can feel himself slipping further and further into a pleasing trance.

“Oh, my Witcher,” Jaskier hums, running his finger gently up the length of Lambert’s stomach and drawing a sweet line of goosebumps up through the smattering of hair, “I truly do not know what exactly I have done to deserve you in my life.”

Lambert huffs, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair that is much too soft for its own good. “I’m the one who got lucky here, bard. I can’t imagine a world where you would grace my bed, and here you are. All thick thighs and chest hair and eyes bluer than the sky in Toussaint.”

“And Geralt says you’re no good with words! Pfft, I should have known. Poor guy just doesn’t know how to appreciate the beauty before him.” Jaskier pushes up onto his elbows to look down at Lambert. “And I should be so lucky as to be in the presence of all of this, I mean, really?”

Jaskier leans down, his breath ghosting over Lambert’s bare skin, his lips just barely brushing his skin as he speaks, “By the  _ Gods,  _ your chest is just so... _ fuck,”  _ and Jaskier presses his lips firmly against the mounds of muscle, corded tight around a heart buried deep behind the flesh. 

Lambert’s eyes never leave Jaskier as he moves up, placing his hands on the bard’s hips as he fits himself into Lambert’s neck. “And your jaw, with that beard?” Jaskier’s mouth feels like heaven as it traces down that line and back up over his cheekbone.

“And my own personal favorite, my love,” Jaskier whispers, “would be those  _ amazing  _ lips that are richer than even Queen Calanthe would have the privilege to rest upon.”

And as Jaskier kisses him now, Lambert feels himself falling deeper into Jaskier’s grasp. No, not the physical wrap of his arms around his neck, but the embrace around his sore, tender heart. No one has touched him there in too long, and even then, it hadn’t been a particularly kind touch. 

As he begins to drown in the depths of those thoughts Lambert can feel himself start to close off, tensing just the slightest bit under Jaskier’s fingers. Jaskier being who he is, though, immediately notices and pulls away, still close enough to touch but with enough room for Lambert to catch his breath. 

“What’s on your mind, Lambert?” Jaskier crooks his head adorably, and Lambert can’t resist running his hand through his hair once more. 

“It’s noth-”

“I swear to the Gods above if you say ‘nothing’ I will tickle you  _ so much-” _

__ “Witchers aren’t ticklish. And-I just- _ fuck,  _ I don’t know the words.” Lambert’s head thumps against the pillow dejectedly, waiting for Jaskier to turn and walk away, just like they always do.

Instead, Jaskier rolls over and pulls Lambert along, letting him rest on his chest. Jaskier wraps his arm around Lambert’s back, and his other hand finds Lambert’s where it rests on his stomach. His thumb strokes over the mountains of Lambert’s knuckles as the Witcher sighs into his chest.

“I don’t usually get... _ this  _ part. The-the stuff after.” Lambert’s eyes dart around the tiny room, searching for anything that may deign to fracture this vulnerable moment. Jaskier’s hands smooth across the hard muscles of his back and hums under his breath, soothing the man in his arms who threatens to shatter with even the softest touch. “People usually just...leave.”

“Do you want me t-”

“ _ No- _ no.” Lambert looks up at Jaskier and finds him already peering back down at him, his eyes soft and a gentle smile playing at his lips. The tension in Lambert’s shoulders starts to melt away with every passing moment that Jaskier turns his attention on him. 

“Then I will stay, Lambert. For as long as you’ll have me,” Jaskier whispers as he brings his hand to cup Lambert’s cheek. He sinks into the touch, feeling the calluses on the tips of the bard’s fingers from years of honing his craft. Jaskier drags those same fingers through Lambert’s hair, feeling the soft strands so mussed by his love. 

“You know,” Lambert murmurs, closing his eyes under Jaskier’s ministrations, “Before I was brought to Kaer Morhen, my mother was the only person on the Continent who would touch me with love in her heart. My father, the bastard, would use his fists and his words, and then when I was taken to Kaer Morhen, I-I was turned into something else. A fuckin’  _ kid,  _ Jaskier. I was turned into a weapon, a killing machine...and I-”

“They may have tried to do that, Lambert,” Jaskier whispers, just loud enough to reach Lambert’s ears, “but they didn’t succeed. You are the most kind,” a kiss is placed on Lambert’s nose, “thoughtful,” his forehead, “head-strong,” his fingertips, “most  _ amazing  _ man I have ever had the good fortune of knowing in my life. And you know what?”

Lambert swallows thickly, nuzzling into Jaskier’s chest. “What?” He breathes, not daring to break the fragile quiet in the room. All he can hear is Jaskier’s heart fluttering in his chest and the words that pour from his lips.

“I love you with all my heart, Lambert. And I know that you love me too. You trust me, I can feel it in my bones, and I learn more about you every day that passes by. And I want to spend the rest of my days learning even more.”

Lambert looks up into the sweet clear-blue pools of Jaskier’s eyes and sees deep into his soul, laid bare for him to gaze upon. “Yeah, Jask,” he whispers, pressing his lips gently to Jaskier’s, “I do love you.”


End file.
